pocket and set it on the counter. He clapped his hands once and displayed his palms to Nettie. "Before the crucifixion of Jesus," he said, "there was Horus, Quexalcote, Prometheus, and more." He tugged a paper napkin from a dispenser, wrapped it around his hand, and tucked in the ends. Palm up, he rested the back of hand on the coin. With his free hand, he snatched the knife from the pie tin.
Nettie took a step back.
"But Odin," Lenny continued, "Odin was crucified by his own javelin." He raised the knife and gave Nettie a wink. Twitch. Tic.
She looked at the knife, looked at Lenny. Her eyes widened.
Released, Lenny drove the knife though the air, through the napkin, and through his hand. His fork jumped, his plate clattered, and his coffee cup rattled on its saucer.
With a flash of white, the room canted, and Lenny felt as if he were about to pass out. But with his next breath, exquisite pain rose up and washed through him. It ablated all the hard edges of the world, until at last, he floated free.
For the first time in years, he dared hope the night might grant him an uncontested sleep. He opened his eyes. The diner glowed softly, and a golden aura hung about Nettie.
"You need to leave," she said. Her words came from a distance.
Lenny smiled.
"I mean it." Her aura shifted. It thinned into cold white motes that fell from the air like clumps of flour. She held a phone, her thumb resting on the buttons.
Lenny wondered how long he'd been in the Elsewhere. He nodded at his pinned hand. "Will you set me free?"
Nettie glanced at the knife. "Not a chance."
"Magicians need assistants."
"And you need to leave. I'm not kidding."
Take me up. Cast me away.
Lenny sighed. He took hold of the knife, inhaled, and wrenched it free. He swallowed hard, fighting a rush of nausea. "It's okay," he said. He set the knife on the counter. "I've been blessed."
Cursed.
"Please," Nettie's voice trembled, "Just go."
"But that wasn't the trick. This is." He raised his hand, snapped the napkin free, and made a tossing motion. Using the misdirection, he dropped the crumpled paper onto his lap. But to Nettie, her view blocked by the counter, the napkin had simply vanished.
Lenny clenched his maimed hand and opened it. No blood, just a wound. He repeated the gesture. No wound, just a scar. And again. No scar, just a memory.
Nettie blinked. "Well heck. That's pretty good."
"I can do it again if you like." Lenny plucked the coin from the counter.
Nettie's smile disappeared -- no misdirection. "No. I've got to get home. Your order's on the house."
Everything has a price.
"I pay my debts," Lenny said.
"Really, no charge."
"I insist."
Nettie shrugged. She pulled a pen and pad from her apron and scribbled. She tore the slip loose and offered it to Lenny. As she stepped towards him, he reached out. His fingers grazed her ear.
"Slow-coach," he said. He palmed his coin and pretended to pull a silver dollar from her ear. He rubbed the dollar between thumb and finger, duplicated it, clinked the two together, and set four on the counter. "I appreciate your hospitality."
Hospitality -- an old word, an ancient charge.
In dappled moonlight, Lenny sat on a park bench, his backpack alongside. On top lay his favorite book,
Forcing Coin and other Legerdemain
, by The Fabulous Farnsworth. It had warped boards and a bleached, tattered cover, but to Lenny the book was priceless. Nonetheless, he'd decided to give it to Nettie; he'd share the secret of the Coin from Ear trick without breaking the Magician's Code -- a gift of knowledge.
After a time, the diner's lights went out. A moment later, Nettie stood in the doorway, her figure sylvan in the moonlight. Lenny held his breath. If Nettie's path home carried her away, he'd not antagonize the Fates by following.
Instead, she turned in his direction.
As she approached, Lenny rolled his coin back and forth along his knuckles. Sidelong, he watched her hesitate as she caught sight of him. He winced at
Nettie took a step back.
"But Odin," Lenny continued, "Odin was crucified by his own javelin." He raised the knife and gave Nettie a wink. Twitch. Tic.
She looked at the knife, looked at Lenny. Her eyes widened.
Released, Lenny drove the knife though the air, through the napkin, and through his hand. His fork jumped, his plate clattered, and his coffee cup rattled on its saucer.
With a flash of white, the room canted, and Lenny felt as if he were about to pass out. But with his next breath, exquisite pain rose up and washed through him. It ablated all the hard edges of the world, until at last, he floated free.
For the first time in years, he dared hope the night might grant him an uncontested sleep. He opened his eyes. The diner glowed softly, and a golden aura hung about Nettie.
"You need to leave," she said. Her words came from a distance.
Lenny smiled.
"I mean it." Her aura shifted. It thinned into cold white motes that fell from the air like clumps of flour. She held a phone, her thumb resting on the buttons.
Lenny wondered how long he'd been in the Elsewhere. He nodded at his pinned hand. "Will you set me free?"
Nettie glanced at the knife. "Not a chance."
"Magicians need assistants."
"And you need to leave. I'm not kidding."
Take me up. Cast me away.
Lenny sighed. He took hold of the knife, inhaled, and wrenched it free. He swallowed hard, fighting a rush of nausea. "It's okay," he said. He set the knife on the counter. "I've been blessed."
Cursed.
"Please," Nettie's voice trembled, "Just go."
"But that wasn't the trick. This is." He raised his hand, snapped the napkin free, and made a tossing motion. Using the misdirection, he dropped the crumpled paper onto his lap. But to Nettie, her view blocked by the counter, the napkin had simply vanished.
Lenny clenched his maimed hand and opened it. No blood, just a wound. He repeated the gesture. No wound, just a scar. And again. No scar, just a memory.
Nettie blinked. "Well heck. That's pretty good."
"I can do it again if you like." Lenny plucked the coin from the counter.
Nettie's smile disappeared -- no misdirection. "No. I've got to get home. Your order's on the house."
Everything has a price.
"I pay my debts," Lenny said.
"Really, no charge."
"I insist."
Nettie shrugged. She pulled a pen and pad from her apron and scribbled. She tore the slip loose and offered it to Lenny. As she stepped towards him, he reached out. His fingers grazed her ear.
"Slow-coach," he said. He palmed his coin and pretended to pull a silver dollar from her ear. He rubbed the dollar between thumb and finger, duplicated it, clinked the two together, and set four on the counter. "I appreciate your hospitality."
Hospitality -- an old word, an ancient charge.
In dappled moonlight, Lenny sat on a park bench, his backpack alongside. On top lay his favorite book,
Forcing Coin and other Legerdemain
, by The Fabulous Farnsworth. It had warped boards and a bleached, tattered cover, but to Lenny the book was priceless. Nonetheless, he'd decided to give it to Nettie; he'd share the secret of the Coin from Ear trick without breaking the Magician's Code -- a gift of knowledge.
After a time, the diner's lights went out. A moment later, Nettie stood in the doorway, her figure sylvan in the moonlight. Lenny held his breath. If Nettie's path home carried her away, he'd not antagonize the Fates by following.
Instead, she turned in his direction.
As she approached, Lenny rolled his coin back and forth along his knuckles. Sidelong, he watched her hesitate as she caught sight of him. He winced at
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